Visions of a Future Queen

The moonlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows illuminated the throne room where the Queen sat, hidden in the shadow of the throne. A silver-plated crown was balanced between her adoring hands as she peered at it from beneath her downcast eyelashes. Her warped reflection looked solemnly back at her from within the polished silver.

For a small, forgetful moment she imagined herself to be her father, sitting on his gilded throne of gold and jewels, looking down at her. She searched her own face for signs of weakness or any indication of her deepest wishes. With the knowledge of all that had been done at the forefront of her thoughts she wondered, what would he see?

She figured that he most likely would find nothing to be proud of, or rather that there was nothing to be glad about. Still, at the very least she possessed no small measure of strength and that surely demanded recognition.

“Have I made the right choice?” her reflection spoke softly and earnestly from the crown. She could not bear thinking of herself as her father might in a moment of such honest regret.

Returning to her own self she pondered the question for only half a breath before quickly disregarding it as irrelevant. The moment she was no longer her father, and found herself utterly separated from whatever anguish he might feel, she found that it didn’t matter what was right. Why should she care what some dead king thought of her? All that mattered was that she’d won.

Drawing back her shoulders and pursing her thin lips she asked the crown instead, “Have I proven myself?”

Her fingers ran along the knife-like edges of the crown as she stared into her own dark eyes. A few heartbeats passed before her lips curved into a delicate smile.

“I did it, mother.” Her voice held notes of glee as she spoke to the crown. “I’ve avenged you and seized the throne, just as you wanted. Just as I promised I would.”

An elated laugh lurched in her chest, “Now,” she sighed in complete relief, “It’s between me and that fool of a prince who thinks himself my brother.” Sinking back into the gilt frame of the throne she stroked the blade like plates of the crown lovingly and peered at the spires stretching above her. “A minor piece, great as his magic might be he can’t prepare for an attack he doesn’t know will take place. Father could tell him that.”

Her gaze drifted across the throne room, painted in the moons white light. Slowly frowning as she contemplated her private thoughts, her grip growing tighter around the crown until its sharpened plates dug into her hands.

“I almost,” the murmur carried tremulously across the room, “Feel sorry for him.”

Her attention slowly fell to the crown and seeing her own distant gaze she blinked once, twice and then rolled her shoulders as if to shrug off some filthy cloak. “But it serves the bastard right!” She leered in distain, “Sucking up to the king like that! How dare he try to steal my crown? And while thinking I would still call him my brother too?”

This time her laugh emerged a little too loudly as she shook her head in pity. Shutting her eyes, she drew herself up and let the night air fill her lungs like blessed poison. When she sighed the breath out again it was with a self-assured smile.

“He brought it upon himself,” she affirmed. “And now that I’m Queen I will not tolerate such foolishness as the likes of him and our father have demonstrated. Anyone who’d think they can rely on magic to get things done will be taught a good hard lesson. There’s no place for such debauchery in my kingdom and I’ll see them all removed.”

Raising the crown to eye level she spoke to it once more, “I keep my promises mother, same as you.”

At long last she raised the silver crown and set it delicately into the coarse black braids wrapped tightly around her skull. She let her hands float down to the jewel encrusted armrests of the throne with satisfaction and turned her head deliberately to the right.

There she met the kings gaze. Walled within a magnificent golden frame his portrait stared back at her. She smiled wickedly.

“Hello Father,” her fingers drummed playfully along the gilded armrests, “You must be very surprised to see me sitting here. Of course, I’m not.”

She swung her feet back and forth like a child, her velvet slippers falling loose to hang from her toes. She refused to look away from the picture or lower her chin so much as a fraction. Her smile remained stubbornly pressed into place.

“I always knew my destiny, even when you lost faith. You’d almost convinced me for a moment there though.” Her laugh was short and mirthless, “To think anyone would believe some bastard of yours would be a better candidate for the throne! And based on what? By virtue of his magic?”

She shook her head impatiently but held her smile, “Yet somehow I’m here, magicless, and with a crown upon my head. Impossible things happen every day if you have the cunning to make it so.”

Tilting her head to one side she observed the portrait, regarding it as if it might answer her. gradually the swinging of her feet slowed to a stop, her slippers still hanging from her toes. Leaning back into the throne she stared up dreamily at the intricate, arching spires above her.

“How foolish you must feel,” she breathed, “for all the great magic at your disposal you still couldn’t see that I was killing you. I suppose that must mean I possess skills greater than magic, no?”

Her dark eyes drifted closed as she shook her head wistfully. The cold light of the moon bleached her face as her head came to rest against the thrones gilt frame. For a brief respite she looked peaceful with her dark eyelashes fanned over her round cheeks.

The illusion broke as a low, ugly laugh bubbled from her throat.

“When you realized it was me!” her hands gripped the armrests tightly as she struggled to contain her mirth. “No one could dare to claim that mere herbs could kill you! No one could ever be so clever as to defeat you without magic! But you won’t admit that you were wrong, will you?”

Flashing her teeth, she opened her eyes to glare at the portrait, revealing them to be glassy and shinning in the moonlight. “Of course not, you stubborn, grotesque, mule of a man. Rest assured this is far from the end. How could it ever be the end when I have so much more proof to offer you? Starting with the bastard.”

At leisure she distractedly stretched her fingers around the lion heads on the ends of the jewelled armrests, her tendons flexing beneath her skin. She cast her gaze over the throne room painted in ghostly white light from the windows.

“I wish you could see me sitting on your throne.” She said absentmindedly, “Of course, I’ll have to tear it down and build another to match my crown. Do you like it by the way?”

She turned sharply towards the picture, her eyes narrowed and inquiring as she studied its vacant stare. “Does it look familiar? Like it might have sat on the head of a woman you pushed from a tower window?”

Silence stretched between them as she continued to glare at the picture. The still image wouldn’t flinch. At length she sat straight and raised her chin, her eyes still shinning.

“You wanted to know why. At our last meeting you asked me why. We didn’t have time to discuss it then, but I’ll tell you now.” Her fingers thudded against the lion’s head armrests. “Mother gave me this crown. She passed it to me with her blessing after you told me I’d never be Queen.”

She put her hand to the crown for a moment as her gaze grew foggy with moisture.

“As I grieved my lost status in the courtyard I looked up and saw her falling from the tower. The crown was thrown from her head and it skipped its way across the cobblestones to me like a final wish, an answer.” She dropped her hand from the crown and draped both arms over a single armrest as she leaned towards the portrait. “I swore I would honor that gesture and become the Queen she deserves. I did this because I know she didn’t jump. She may have often been sad but I know she wouldn’t have jumped”

The Queen blinked once, twice and the wetness left her eyes. She stared down the portrait.

“Is that what it takes to rule a kingdom, Father? Because I think I can manage that.” Her grin widened savagely, “In fact I have managed that.”

Slowly she lifted herself from the throne and put her back to the painting. She kept her posture tall as she folded her arms behind her back and paced across the dais. When she reached the far end she paused and closed her eyes, keeping her head raised even as the tears swelled once more.

“I’ll never know why you did it,” she said softly, her voice steady in spite of the tears, “you have all the answers, and I’m left with nothing but my own speculations.”

She raised a single shoulder as she pondered, “Maybe she stood in your way when you wanted to bring in that bastard to replace me, or maybe you were just angry she couldn’t give you a powerful heir. Would it really have been so bad…”

The Queen hesitated a moment before giving herself a little shake. She blinked once, twice and her eyes were clear. at last she turned back towards the painting now obscured in the distant shadows. She could still make out his expressionless eyes.

“It doesn’t matter now, we’ve made our choices. Whatever the consequences may be there’s no going back.” Her gaze hardened as she slowly stepped back towards the painting. “death was the price of your foolishness. Now don’t you think the rein of magic has run its course?”

She chuckled darkly as she reached the throne and draped herself over its back. “Now your beloved bastard child rides back from his lessons to come to your side, but will instead find himself riding into my hands. All your doing, dear father.” She chuckled again, “it seems we’ll soon find out whether magic is really more powerful than cunning. I hope they’ve trained him well.”

The Queens grin grew wide and cruel as she slipped past the throne and took another step towards the painting, her stare full of venom. “I would hate to think of what he might suffer if they haven’t. Of course, I’d have to make an example of him in order to make the intent of my rein clear. Once he’s out of the way I’ll do everything in my power to erase you from the history books, even if that means destroying all of them.”

With each word the Queen drew closer, “I will burn every painting, tear down every statue, and defile every law with your fingerprints on it. No one will remember your name, I swear it.”

Her eyes are glassy and hateful as she stops before the painting and her gaze draws level with the kings. “And you think magic’s so invincible? We’ll see how it stands under my rein. All traces of it will have to go, the objects it possesses, the wretched books, and especially the creatures who practice it! none of it will be tolerated in my kingdom!”

Staring into the deceased kings face she reached out with a trembling hand. “And it all starts here.” She finished quietly as her fingers reached the gilt frame, growing steady as her hand laid flat against it. Smiling softly, she blinked once, twice.

“My only regret,” she breathed with an almost loving edge. “Is that you’ll never get to see any of it.”